


Won't Even Wish

by Rubynye



Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Santa hat, a sack of food, and Jim on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Even Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/space_wrapped/profile)[**space_wrapped**](http://community.livejournal.com/space_wrapped/). Prompt at end.

Title: Won't Even Wish  
Fandom: Star Trek XI  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Jocelyn/McCoy mentioned.  
Summary: A Santa hat, a sack of food, and Jim on Christmas Eve.  
Content Advisory: As toothachingly sweet, and hopefully as warming, as a peppermint candy cane.  
Acknowledgements: [](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/profile)[**lomedet**](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/) and [](http://asimaiyat.livejournal.com/profile)[**asimaiyat**](http://asimaiyat.livejournal.com/).  
_Disclaimer:_ None of these characters or their settings belong to me.

Title from "All I Want For Christmas Is You", which seemed appropriately fluffy.

Jim admits he packed a little haphazardly, but he and Bones had about one and a half split seconds to get their stuff together between Commencement and shipping out on the _Enterprise_. Still, now that they've caught their breath, and his Quartermaster wants Storage A-1 through A-9 cleared of crew effects, he's pretty sure Bones could've sorted these boxes without dragging him into it.

When Jim suggested as much, Bones just reminded him that the only officer who can rank the Captain is the CMO, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him away from the door. Ever since, as Bones puts items away or tosses them in the discard pile he's kept up a tart running commentary on Jim's lack of packing acumen, so when he says, "Huh," now, Jim's... cautious about looking up.

But he does, and sees Bones holding a tatty Santa hat, its cone of red felt and white rim creased from storage, its pompom flattened and dingy. Bones stares at it with a weird set to his face that gradually expands into an actual smile, and that's what reminds Jim of when he wore it. "Hey," he says, "You kept that thing?"

"Piece of junk," Bones says, but sets it down carefully, a pink blush welling in his cheeks as Jim grins.

********

 

Christmastime -- _Winter Break_ \-- at the Academy, filling the dank City night with flashing displays, shrill tinny tunes and hectic saccharine smiles, and Leonard stomps through the middle of it all on his way from the ghost town of Starfleet Medical to the dim refuge of his dorm room. Last year he had Joanna at his aunt Melva's, and Jim safely stashed at a girlfriend's house, sending him ridiculous messages every day; now Melva's somewhere warmer than Georgia and Joanna's spending the holidays bonding with Jocelyn's new beau.

A dark window reflects Leonard's scowl, rucked-up hair and cheeks dusted with stubble; the hospital's on a skeleton staff with a thankfully light patient load, but today's parade of household accidents and RTAs kept him busy enough to miss his noon shave. He purses his lips at his reflection and privately, viciously admits to himself that he wouldn't hand a little girl over to someone this scruffy and disreputable either, especially after she hasn't seen him in a year.

Leonard kicks a lump of broken-off pavement, stalks past some idiot ringing a bell and rattling a bucket, and hunches his shoulders all the way back to his dorm. Anticipating his empty room, he considers comming Jim, but discards that notion as well. Jim's stayed on campus this year, and as they watched almost everyone else streaming to the transports he smacked Leonard's shoulder and said, "Just you and me, Bones, we'll have a blast!"

The bits of break they've spent together have been far from bad. They've had some good lunches at far-flung eateries, exploring the city out of uniform, and some breakfasts where Jim staggered in late and made Leonard wield the regenerator on his hickeys while crowing way too much information about whatever girl or boy or couple he racked up the night before. Apparently Jim's idea of a Winter Break involves fucking his way through San Francisco, then telling Leonard every salacious story each next morning, which he's got every right to do, as long as he doesn't catch anything, including punches from jealous SOs. It's not like he and Leonard are... anything besides friends. Who occasionally fuck. And sometimes sleep together. Usually not even at the same time.

Leonard's building looms up before him, only a few speckles of light in its dark facade. He can't see his window from here, but it would be blank anyway. For a moment he ruefully imagines Jim asleep in his bed or messing around in his things, but his favorite blue-eyed menace has better things to do than hang around waiting for Leonard to slouch home. When Jim gets tired of the bed-by-bed city tour he'll come back to his sure thing, and while that thought would ordinarily make Leonard swear on his dignity to have something else lined up, some reason to at least make Jim work for it, right now he'd probably just let Jim in with a pathetically grateful smile.

Tonight it's just Leonard and whatever bourbon he might possibly have hidden successfully from Jim's last visit. He enters his code and shuffles in --

\-- and finds pleasantly low instrumental music playing, 50% lights glittering off a band of tinsel edging the ceiling, and a redolent sack of takeout on the counter. Jim sits at his desk fiddling with a padd, dressed in a Santa hat and, as Leonard sees when he bounds out of the chair, not another stitch. "Merry Christmas Eve, Bones!" Jim shouts, arms thrown wide, and Leonard just stares at him in astonishment and expanding delight. "What do you want first, dinner or dessert?"

Leonard blinks at Jim, who was waiting for him, who's standing naked in his dorm room except for a Santa hat slipping down over one bright eye. He blinks again, his heart swelling with painful warmth, his chest too tight to breathe, and spends one more heartbeat considering hoisting an eyebrow and calmly doffing his coat, tossing Jim some sweatpants and serving out the steaming bag of spicy-smelling food.

Then he takes two quick steps forward, grabs Jim's face in both hands and kisses him until he stops laughing, until his breathing goes ragged, until his broad hands start to shake as he unfastens Leonard's clothes. He keeps kissing Jim as he's manhandled over to his bed and pushed down, fumbling out of his pants and toeing off his boots as Jim cards fingers through his hair and conquers his mouth with a pushy tongue. He keeps kissing Jim because Jim's enthusiastic and adept, solid and wonderful in his arms, because if he lets his mouth free all sorts of stupid shit will spill out, how glad he is to find Jim in his room, how grateful, how he spent half the day and the whole trudge home wishing for exactly this.

How this is, barring one thing, all he wants for Christmas.

Leonard doesn't let himself say any of that mush. He kisses Jim until his lips crackle, feeling Jim's textbook anatomy surge with life under his hands, and every time Jim tries to back away he hangs on tight and kisses harder. Jim nips him, gasping a laugh, and grabs him by the ears to push his head back, parting their mouths with a wet slick noise. "Wait, wait, hold on a sec," Jim gasps, and when Leonard blinks open his eyes Jim's are blown, blue-rimmed and sparkling black, his hair a dusky-golden halo in the half light and the hat gone somewhere. "I just need to get..."

He means to say, _yeah_ or _okay_ or even _lube's still in the top drawer where you left it_, but all Leonard grits out, running his hands the length of Jim's spine and watching his eyelashes shiver, is "Jim."

Jim doesn't flash his usual grin, the bright cocky charmer that dazzles everyone. He smiles, so sweetly Leonard's heart hurts, and runs his fingers through Leonard's hair, resting their foreheads together a moment. "You're not doing any of the work tonight," he murmurs in a hushed voice like he's saying something else entirely, then leans up over Leonard to reach the top drawer.

Leonard curves his hands to the taut swell of Jim's ass and kisses over the pound of his heart, the rise of his pectoral, the sagittal end of his collarbone, the pulse in his throat. Jim sighs with every kiss as he rummages, and when he rocks back up he tips his face down to kiss Leonard again, tightening his thighs around Leonard's hips. He plants one hand by Leonard's head, shuddering against his mouth, and Leonard hears a hot slippery noise and realizes, with a shiver of his own and a surge in his dick, that Jim's started fingering himself, what Jim intends to do with him.

So when Jim leans up, Leonard gasps out, "More lube?" but Jim just shakes his head, his flanks velvety damp but steady, his breathing easy.

"I got this," Jim tells him, stroking him with slick fingers until his eyes roll back. "I got you." Leonard barely manages to push them open against the weight of pleasure as Jim plants both hands on the mattress and eases back onto him, around him, engulfing him centimeter by centimeter in tight heat. Jim's eyelids are creased shut and trembling, his lower lip outslung as his mouth falls open, and Leonard braces his hands on Jim's hips, hard muscles and harder bones, holds his breath as he watches and feels Jim all around him.

They slap flush, almost a thump, Leonard's balls already tightening; Jim gasps once before he smiles, open and wide, and Leonard bites his lip hard against embarrassing himself and stares up at the splendid architecture of Jim's body, his upcurved dick, the wet gleaming dip between his pecs, his flushed radiant face. "Oh, God, Jim," Leonard starts to babble before he chokes on joy, struggling not to say anything ridiculous, and as Jim rocks up his eyes fall shut on the sight of that smile.

Leonard manages not to embarrass himself, mostly because Jim moves patiently, setting a pace like a steady jog. Mostly Jim takes things fast, noisy and wild, while Leonard grumps after him and does his best to keep up, but right now the room echoes with the slow slide of their bodies and their ragged moans. Every time Leonard catches himself wanting to say more he squeezes Jim's hips instead, and Jim undulates a little harder, a little more forcefully, like he already knows every foolish exclamation spinning in the back of Leonard's mind.

When they're both getting close, shuddering into each other, Leonard feels Jim's weight shift, his hand leave the bed, and shoves open his eyes to see Jim's flicker closed as he strokes himself. Leonard reaches up to push his hand aside, and Jim laughs or maybe sobs as he grips Leonard's forearm and bounces harder, as Leonard strokes him ungently until he breathes, "Bones," and tenses into ripples, coming in hot stripes across Leonard's skin.

And in that moment Leonard forgets all his resolve, forgets everything except Jim shivering and incandescent around him, and gasps, "Jim, Jim, I--" before his voice breaks into a groan and he comes so hard he sees streaks of red light slant across his vision.

Jim chuckles breathlessly, shoves himself up on wobbly arms and falls half atop and half across Leonard, and they spend a few panting moments making up their oxygen deficits before Jim presses a soft kiss to Leonard's cheekbone and tightens his arm in a deliberate, sticky snuggle.

Leonard thinks about opening his eyes, about dragging Jim after him into the shower. He smudges his hand across the sheet, drapes it on Jim's arm and mutters, "Food's probably cold," waiting for Jim's stomach to growl.

"I got old fashioned pizza rolls, they're good whenever," Jim answers into Leonard's shoulder, brushing his lips across buzzing skin, and Leonard gives up thinking for what ends up being the night.

He wakes up with Jim's arm across his waist and his chest hairs itchily glued together, the hard curve of Jim's thigh pressed to his and a lump beneath the small of his back that turns out to be the Santa hat. Leonard tosses it off the bed and shifts onto his side, and finds Jim looking at him, heavy-lidded and smiling, cheeks sandy with stubble over pink stubble-burn. "Hey, Bones, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas yourself." Leonard feels it, warmth inside him to match the words, and Jim's eyes are a dark soft blue like the evening sky.

Those eyes drift shut as Jim's smile widens. "Your shift today ends at 1500, right?"

Leonard already sent Jim his schedule for the Break, but it's not as if he particularly wants to get up and check a padd either. "Yeah, barring emergencies."

"Come by my dorm?" Jim sounds almost diffident, maybe, his forehead creasing. "We can figure out dinner from there."

"Sure," Leonard murmurs, and tries not to hope to have Jim for two nights running. "But I'm not going out to watch you mesmerize some horny barfly into taking you home, not tonight." He's got a call to make to Joanna, which means to Jocelyn, and that thought cuts coldly right through all the warmth in his bed.

As Leonard thinks ahead to that call, Jim laughs, a puff of warm sourish breath. "I made my dates for the first half of Break, Bones. The second half's all yours, all the way through the 6th." Leonard's partway into estimating if bringing up his grades would impress Jocelyn or infuriate her, when the implications of Jim's statement hit him -- between Christmas and the start of next semester, he has only four shifts and much more free time. Plus, the two weeks ahead include Jim's birthday; for almost a year Leonard's been trying to figure out some way of keeping Jim safe from himself, without spooking him into doing something even stupider than last year's debacle. Now Jim's just offered him that day, along with all the rest of their Break.

Leonard looks at Jim, tangled up with him in his bed, eyelids resolutely lowered like shields as he adds, too evenly, too brave, "If you want me. I mean, I can find--"

"I want you," Leonard blurts, then rephrases, "This works, pretty much."

Jim opens his eyes all the way and they catch the morning light, brilliantly luminous. "Sure you can handle that much uninterrupted Jim Kirk?"

"I'll find the strength somehow," Leonard says, and leans in and kisses him, morning breath and all.

********

 

Jim swipes the hat from where Bones set it down, turning it in his hand. "Not a bad outfit," he muses, watching from the corner of his eye as Bones watches him with darkening eyes. "Should I try it on, see if it still fits?"

Bones gives Jim an Eyebrow of Annoyance, and Jim responds with grinning glee. "We've got, what, three boxes left? Let's just finish this before we get into any shenanigans."

"So after we're done we can get into some _shenanigans_, then?" Jim squares up his stance so the uniform sits a little prettier, and Bones's gaze flicks across his shoulders and hips before latching back onto his face, eyebrows sharpening to offset the way the glare's melting into a different kind of heat.

Still, Bones bitches, because he's Bones, "It's months to Christmas, and with your ever-expanding head it probably doesn't even fit anymore."

That comes nowhere close to shooting Jim down, and when Jim crosses the room to lean on Bones's back, Bones leans back into him. "It's someone's solstice somewhere," Jim tells Bones, chin resting on his shoulder, and watches his cheek pull up in the littlest hint of a smile.

 

[Prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/space_wrapped/630.html): 26) _Bones finds a Santa hat in a box of personal items he found in storage on the ship. He has a very fond memory of that hat..._ I wrote this quickly and simply, but I hope it pleases nonetheless.


End file.
